


The English Patient

by perpetualskies



Category: Bastille
Genre: Humour, M/M, RPF, Sickfic, on the cracky side of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3901699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetualskies/pseuds/perpetualskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is sick. Dan is a terrible patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The English Patient

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the majority of this a year ago, when I was down with the flu and in dire need of some cheering-up. When I say "on the cracky side", I _mean_ on the cracky side. Enjoy!
> 
> Title from eponymous book/film.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction and means no disrespect towards the parties depicted within. Please do NOT share this with the band or anyone associated with it, or spread it around anywhere. (That includes posting links to this on any other site (like twitter etc.) or tweeting the band about it or any other crap like that.)

  


Woody and Will are tripping over themselves to get out of the hotel as soon as they've dumped their luggage.

In the lobby, Kyle still manages to catch Woody by the sleeve. 

“You're his boyfriend, _you_ do the bloody boyfriend things,” Woody bursts out. He looks like a forest animal trying to get his leg out of a trap, so Kyle lets go.

“That's not how it works,” he tries to protest.

“That's _exactly_ how it works,” Woody insists, and behind him, Will nods solemnly in confirmation.

“Fine, _fine_. You two go out and have a jolly good time and I—” He's wasting his breath. Will and Woody are already outside, cutting in line to get the first cab possible. 

That bad, huh?

Kyle turns back to the elevators with a sigh.

 

“A kiss,” Dan demands, voice raspy, forehead coated in sweat, but Kyle only makes a face and pushes him back into the pillows.

“Impossible,” he says. “The three of us can still wing it on stage, but imagine, if I fell ill too...”

“Shut up,” Dan clips and curls away towards the wall.

“Hey,” Kyle says, instantly remorseful, and puts a hand on Dan's hip, lightly. “If you get better soon, we can do a thing off that list of yours.” Kyle can just feel Woody and Will shaking their heads at him, at a nice restaurant, or a sports bar maybe. He tries to will the image out of his head.

There's a lot of rustling before Dan is slowly cocooning towards him again.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Dan had started this list, this ever-expanding assortment of activities he insists are a must-do in _any_ relationship. There is the ominous Twin Peaks role play, for example. The getting-it-on in the abandoned theme park in Berlin, a beheaded plastic dinosaur staring them dead in the eye. (Dan got off; Kyle _didn't._ ) The _hot-sauce-everything_ week, which sounds agreeable at first, but Kyle's been through variations of that before, and when Dan says everything he _means_ everything. Kyle let him, never intending to actually go through with any of it. Apparently, the fact that they were never crossing anything _off_ that list was no indication to Dan, ever.

Kyle knows he will regret this later, but for the moment, the blissful expression on Dan's face is totally worth it.

“Where did you get all these blankets from anyway?” he asks. He looks over to his own bed and—of course. “Un-fucking-believable.” 

Dan is suddenly fast asleep, snoring soundly right through Kyle's accusations.

 

Dan feels utterly miserable for letting down the fans and wants to at least tweet an apology, so Kyle hands him the phone, but he categorically refuses to sneak Dan into a hospital, “so that it will look more authentic.”

“Fine,” Dan says, and takes a picture of his chicken soup instead. The trick with that, as Kyle has already learned, is to absolutely insist that it was made exactly the same way his mother used to when he was a child, and Dan will omit all further scrutiny. Post-chicken Dan is also easiest to care for. He will take his cough syrup unresistingly, let himself be tucked in and fall asleep as soon as you start playing the intro to Mulholland Drive. 

Just when Kyle thinks he can sneak off to take a long since hoped-for shower, there's a strained voice coming from the pile of blankets where only the quiff indicates the presence of an actual human being.

“Kyle, if I don't make it...” Kyle _wishes_ he could roll his eyes any harder.

“Sleep. _Now._ ”

 

Kyle catches Will and Woody in the corridor the day after. They're both wearing bath robes and Will is sipping a disgustingly bright fruit cocktail.

“You're a good man,” Woody says earnestly, clapping him on the back, and Kyle genuinely wants to punch him in the face. There are croissant crumbs all over the front of his t-shirt, Kyle would recognise them anywhere. Will waves a brochure in front of his eyes. “One of the top five Spas in the country, would you believe it.”

Kyle would, does. His phone beeps with yet another message from Dan. _And pickles_ it reads. The third one and Kyle hasn't even made it off their floor yet. Will makes an obscene slurping sound with his straw and raises his eyebrows. 

_This is how the world ends,_ Kyle thinks, punching the elevator button yet again, _not with a bang but with a—_

 

Dick has dropped by with some medicine for Dan to take and Kyle is trying really hard to resist asking if there's more where that came from. It makes Dan all pliant and docile, blissful and balled-up in their collective blankets, with a reduced swear word output of 10%.

Dan says, “Tell me a story,” eyelids drooping shut, and Kyle presses the back of his hand to his forehead, a gesture that makes Dan lean in and smile every time, then settles back against the headboard. “Remember the time we were celebrating signing the record deal and you threw up all over my trainers?” he says. 

“Yeahhh,” Dan replies reverently, as if it were a particularly fond memory of his. 

Kyle cards his hand through Dan's hair, swatting his quiff this way and that. “You were really happy then,” he adds quietly.

“I still am,” Dan says, inching just a little bit closer. Kyle smiles. Maybe this isn't too bad after all, he thinks, and even the image of Will and Woody at the hotel pool stings only a little. A moment later, Dan attempts to kick him in the shin. 

“So are you actually going to tell it or what?”

Kyle rolls his eyes and gets on it.

  



End file.
